Twenty five of us not so much
jammed in above the wheels
this early evening moment
trying not to give spasm to a thickly
fabriced shoulder
or touch a red sleeve.
Reading over your shoulder
maybe I learn you want to go to
Brazil someday
or what laundry soap you use
and that you wore an entire bottle of cologne for a first date.
Maybe you’re automatically
shielding my forced attempts at sales and watching
as I discretely pick chia seeds
from in between my teeth.

Week of lunches with Frank O’Hara: